The Dragon King Bloodline of Hogwarts

Chapter 3 The Wandering Prince

The summer breeze swept up the Astronomical Tower, making Viserys' silver hair flutter in the wind.

Damon Targaryen, the Ranger Prince, is the most chilling name in the Dance of the Dragons. Everyone believed he perished alongside Aemond above Lake of Godeye, his remains sinking to the bottom of the lake. Only rumors circulated that he survived, that he was hiding somewhere, spending the rest of his life with his bastard dragon rider, Castor.

No one knows the truth. No one knows that a thousand years ago, this Targaryen ancestor, just like himself, fell into an unfamiliar lake, passed through a rift, and rode the blood dragon Korakshyu into this castle.

Viserys kept these things to himself; he had no intention of telling his family history to someone he had only known for a short time.

Dumbledore didn't ask. The old man simply stood beside him, the moonlight fading the stars on his indigo robes.

"Madam Pomfrey told me that your magic has been almost completely drained," Dumbledore said. "May I see your right hand?"

Viserys hesitated for a moment, then reached out his hand.

Dumbledore bent down to examine the rune above the half-moon lens, but did not touch it.

"It is exactly the same as the pattern recorded in Damon's manuscript."

Viserys immediately withdrew his hand. "The manuscript."

"A fragment." Dumbledore turned and walked to the table inside the tower, pulled open a drawer and took out a piece of parchment. The paper was yellowed and brittle with curled edges, and the handwriting on it was messy, slanted, and the ink had faded to a rusty color.

It is in Valyrian language, in Damon's handwriting.

Viserys paused for a moment.

"Years ago, it was taken to the Hogwarts Library, and the classification label read 'Unknown language, suspected to be an ancient rune variant.' It took me a long time to confirm who these words belonged to," Dumbledore said. "Gow Valyrian is a language that no one in this world can understand except Damon."

"Now we have it."

"Now we have it." Dumbledore nodded slightly.

Viserys didn't touch the paper; his gaze was fixed on it. After a moment, he forced himself to look away.

"He spent thirty years in this world and then found a way back." Dumbledore put the parchment back in the drawer. "He also left behind a manor. On an island in a lake in the Scottish Highlands, protected by blood magic."

He looked at Viserys.

"That seal only recognizes Targaryen blood."

Viserys looked down at his palm. Damon knew there would be descendants; he knew a thousand years ago, and set the seal, waiting for ten centuries.

"take me."

"Once you and your sister are settled, once you've learned to trust that I won't poison your dinner, then the things in your blood will guide you where you're meant to be. The manor's seal only recognizes Targaryen blood, and the door will only open for you. You don't need me to lead the way."

Viserys didn't argue; he understood. This wasn't about trust; Dumbledore needed him to break the seal, he needed Dumbledore to teach him everything about this world—not out of kindness, but as an equal bargaining chip.

This actually made him feel more at ease.

He took the pendant out of his pocket and placed it on the table. It was made of dragon bone, grayish-white, and engraved with patterns he couldn't understand.

Dumbledore's gaze fell upon it.

"keel."

"This thing shouldn't be in the alleys of Braavos, much less hanging around the neck of an assassin who came to kill me," Viserys said. "I killed her twice."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"The first time I slit her throat, she fell to the ground. I went to search the body, and when I turned back, she was standing up." Viserys' voice was flat. "Her neck was still broken, the wound was gray, not bleeding, and her pupils were burning with red flames. She grabbed my neck and lifted me up, then my right hand started to burn. I plunged the dagger into her heart, she burned to ashes, space tore open and swallowed me and Daenerys, we fell into the lake, and then you found us."

The wind stopped. Viserys didn't talk about those feelings—fear, burning, suffocation—there was no need.

Dumbledore remained silent for a long time.

"The dead don't stand up on their own."

“Not usually in my world either.” Viserys walked to the edge of the tower and looked down at the dark silhouette of the Forbidden Forest. “But I’ve read some things.”

He paused for a moment.

"That assassin, a woman, resurrected after death, with red flames in her pupils, likely came from the Shadowlands of Assassin. A priestess of the Lord of Light; ancient texts say their high priests possess the divine art of resurrection. I burned her to ashes, but she was inside when the rift swallowed us."

"You're worried that she came with you."

"If I were you, I would assume she came."

Dumbledore walked over to him, and the two stood side by side, with the lake below shimmering with fragmented moonlight.

"You read about resurrection techniques in a book. What else did the book say?"

Viserys glanced at him sideways. The question was direct and to the point, unlike Dumbledore's tentative tone of "May I see your right hand?"

He was interested in the resurrection. And not just academically. Viserys kept this in mind.

"People can be resurrected, but each time they return, a part of them is lost. Memories disappear first, then emotions, and finally humanity. After too many resurrections, only an empty shell remains, remembering only the last thing before death."

He paused for a moment and then continued.

"The Dragon King of Ancient Valyria also knew this, but at the same cost: the resurrected person was no longer the original one. They called it 'second death.' This magic was lost after the destruction of Freedom Fortress, or perhaps it was buried."

Dumbledore did not respond immediately. His blue eyes were fixed on the lake's surface, the moonlight shattered within, obscuring its depth.

"Some costs are heavier than death."

The voice was so soft it was almost carried away by the wind; it didn't sound like a statement of reasoning, but rather like a repetition of a conclusion that had taken many years to accept.

Viserys glanced at him; the old man knew far more about the resurrection and its cost than he had revealed. But he didn't press him; he knew he wouldn't get an answer now.

"That assassin," Dumbledore turned his gaze back to him, "she has died once and will die again; as long as her dying obsession remains, she can keep returning. You must remain vigilant."

Viserys nodded.

The silence on the tower lingered for a few seconds before Dumbledore's expression returned to normal.

"Hogwarts starts in September, so there are still two months left. You and Daenerys can live in the castle, and you will enroll as a first-year student after the start of the school year."

"She's with me."

She's only three years old.

"She's with me; she doesn't stay anywhere alone."

Dumbledore looked at him for a few seconds and nodded. "I'll arrange a separate room for you."

Viserys turned and walked towards the stairwell, stopping after a few steps.

"I want to see Damon's manuscripts."

"You can look it up in the school library tomorrow," Dumbledore said, "if you can understand it."

Viserys continued walking up the stairs, but stopped after two steps. This time he didn't turn around.

"My father is Aerys Targaryen II."

He left those words behind and didn't look back.

"The King of the Seven Kingdoms was stabbed in the back by his own Kingsguard three years ago. Robert Baratheon sits on the Iron Throne, and my mother fled to Dragonstone with my sister and me, gave birth to Daenerys, and then died. Ser Darryl brought us to Braavos and died last year. Since then, it's just Daenerys and me, no one else."

He turned around after he finished speaking and stood in the shadows at the top of the stairs, looking at Dumbledore.

"I'm telling you this not to beg you to take me in." His voice was flat. "We've already agreed on the terms for taking me in. You know where I come from. I just want you to know what you've put into Hogwarts."

Dumbledore stood by the window, the moonlight stretching his shadow long.

"I know what I put in there," he said. "An older brother."

Viserys remained silent for a moment.

Then he walked down the stairs, his footsteps sinking deeper and deeper on the stone steps.